


Buggeruptober: Pride

by Heylir



Category: Widdershins (Webcomic)
Genre: Gen, Prompt: Pride, bentober19, buggeruptober
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:21:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27131054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heylir/pseuds/Heylir
Summary: What happened with the malform busters during the Princess Victoria Parade, inVanishing Act.
Relationships: Jack O'Malley & Ben Thackerey & Heinrich Wolfe
Comments: 6
Kudos: 8
Collections: Widdershins Fanworks Month Pieces





	Buggeruptober: Pride

**Author's Note:**

> This translation was made by the author. I'd be grateful to be informed about typos and mistakes found, in order to fix them.
> 
> I started to write this text for Bentober, day 16 prompt Pride.

Ben looked out the window.

“A light snow, no wind. I hope the weather won't change for the parade.” He checked for the fifth time if his shoes are perfectly clean, picked away an invisible speck of dust. Having combed his hair, he gave himself the once-over: “Maybe, another shirt would be better?”

O’Malley rolled his eyes and Wolfe smiled, “My friend, we are not going to propose to Princess, just to look at her!”

Ben frowned, but only for several seconds, “Must remember to buy flags!”

“’ow long are ye gonna fuss about?” O’Malley asked at last. “Th’ time fer ye to go!”

Ben got absorbed in unwinding and examining his scarf suddenly. Seeing it is intact, he looked at O’Malley.

“Maybe, come along with us still? We don’t have to go into the crowd, we can just stay around...”

“Not fer love or money, crowd or no!” snorted O’Malley. “What th’ hell would m’doin’ on th’ English Princess’s parade?”

“Mal and I have talked about that,” said Wolfe gently. “He does not want to go, Ben, really. We will be back soon,” he sounded as if he tried to comfort, but whom, Ben or Mal?

“Of course, it takes a little time,” agreed Ben. “And after the parade, we’ll go to a bakery and buy something on the occasion. Pies, maybe. What kind of pie do you want, O’Malley?”

Ben’s tone was like the one of parent conciliating their upset child, and Mal would snap at him but didn’t, for Wolfe’s sake.

“Meat one,” he muttered.

“Let it be, a meat-pie!” Brightened up, Ben started to put on his coat.

Ben was a brainy guy but didn’t get the simplest things sometimes. Or got some stupid ideas into his head so hard you can’t pull them out. What made Ben think that Wolfe and he had to be together every minute, if not at night? Wolfe liked noisy crews, and Mal prefered secluded places. And there were moments when he wanted a break not only from Ben’s lecturing.

Now Mal hoped to have a good time on his own. He could do what he liked: to put his feet on the table, flip the ash off anywhere, talk to himself and use bad language... Or move Ben’s things around, without the danger of being caught. But he didn’t want that, for some reason.

Mal felt... uneasy. It seemed the empty rooms were too large for him alone and the cold winter wind was blowing within their walls. As if it were not a shabby though habitable house but a trump hole, made from cardboard boxes.

He made tea to warm himself, ate the last marrons glace left in the cupboard, smoked several roll-ups, kindled a little bonfire in the ashtray as a memory of old good days. Then he sat on the sill and looked out the window. Boys built a snowman, a girl threw snowballs at them and jumped into a snowdrift.

If Mal were seven, he would like to make fun in the snow. But a big guy would look like a nut... he could only watch others’ fun.

Suddenly Mal’s head throbbed at his temples and his heart got pricked. Something was very wrong, something happened, _danger — alarm_... The air pressed on him, choked him, and he opened up the window, letting wind into the kitchen.

He became easier. Mal smoked another roll-up, walking across the kitchen. What’s up? Maybe, it was a random fit, those happened to him sometimes... He tried to breathe deeply, in hope that would help. It seemed to get better when a loud clap of thunder pealed outside.

Only... Mal knew for sure there are no winter thunderstorms. He darted to the window, looked outside but saw nothing that could make such noise. That was over the river, at the farther shore... He shut down the window and ran to the coat rack.

Walking to the parade, Wolfe didn't stop talking excitedly about the book he had just read, without fear of the cold air. Ben's parents didn't allow him to speak in the cold, for sake of his throat, and that annoyed him no end as a child. Several winters later, after some spirited discussion, he realised that they were right. But Wolfe was a grown-up man, and Ben told him nothing.

The book was a collection of popular science essays about antiquities that Ben bought for its chapter on deciphering Egyptian hieroglyphics. As a boy, he would go to the British Museum often and look at cryptic writings on the Rosetta stone.

When Ben got to learn that some part of the text is a Greek translation of the Egyptian part, he wondered naively why had the hieroglyphs not been read yet. He was explained that it was a very complicated problem, demanding a lot of time, and maybe unsolvable at all. But how could it be? How couldn’t a man understand others’ language, with parallel texts?

He was an adolescent already when the museum attendant of the Egyptian Hall told him about a new paper on hieroglyphics published in France and that French researcher Champollion had managed to read several words of the Egyptian text on their own. Ben remembered bright sunshine of that day and how he couldn’t help sharing that news with his parents on his return home. Of course, everything he heard was “So what?” and “Instead of hanging about museums, you had better make yourself useful”.

But Wolfe got fascinated with another section of the book, telling about archaeological excavations of Pompeii and making Ben feel poignant annoyance. With Romans who built their towns so near the acting volcano and with barbarians who dug them first, ripping off brass letters without even trying to read writings, picking over most valuable things and re-filling up the rest. Even floor holes left from neatly cut mosaic aroused regret in him. Of course, mosaics and frescos were moved for exposing them to people... a lot of people. And still...

Say nothing of terrified people, running wild on the streets, and houses flooded with ashes. Only one thing Ben could think about more or less calmly was Pliny the Older’s fate. The man who launched galleys to the opposite shore for the rescue of his friends, reassured people and watched the volcano while waiting for the wind to abate — and died from poisonous fumes.

Ben told Wolfe nothing of that, not because of the cold. He listened to him and thought if the city library had books on Pompeii and if they would lend a well-illustrated edition. Maybe, for double payment?

The city square was crowded already. Ben would see nothing from behind, but he didn't want to elbow way through a crowd as Wolfe suggested.

"I can..." began Wolfe, but Ben turned around towards the Anchor suddenly and interrupted him. "Can you feel it?"

"What?"

"Something happens, there..." There were a loud roar and a purple flash in the distance. "We must go and look!"

Wolfe followed Ben, thinking they would be a little help in case of fire. But it wasn't the fire, the purple mass was moving, with its course directed towards them.

Wolfe caught hold of Ben's sleeve. "Do not go there. Who knows what it is?"

"It's coming from the Anchor! Some magic thing!"

"But we see it, so that is no buggerup."

"All the same, it's dangerous!"

"So do not go there! What can you do?"

The purple thing approached, taking a form of some strange beast, or bird. Four-legged, with a sharp metal beak and elongated body, it moved towards the square, slowly but inevitably. As it strode past them, Wolfe could see some barrels tangled in its feathers and several riders on its neck.

He looked back at Ben and got surprised by his facial expression. If Ben were someone else Wolfe would decide he is scared, but Ben seemed to be amazed, awed by the sight like one watching a dangerous but fascinating phenomenon of nature.

“Pride,” he whispered. “Peacock, its archetypal form...”

“Does it include barrels?” Wolfe hoped to liven Ben up with the joke.

“It doesn’t,” Ben replied in the same tone. “Wolfe, it’s a Deadly Sin! One more, loose in the world!”

“And how many of them are there?”

“Seven,” Ben said mechanically. “Pride, Envy, Greed, Wrath, Sloth, Gluttony and Lust,” he sounded as he recited a text case.

“Well, you see, just two of seven,” Wolfe tried to reassure him.

There was a loud gunshot and yelling "Move!" from the direction of the square. The sea of people began to welter, and Wolfe drew Ben again.

"Let us go quickly."

He dreaded the prospect of being caught in the thick of a panicked crowd, especially with Ben. But before it could happen, they heard the sound of an explosion. Ben turned around just in time to see a bright red and blue lighting flashing against the greying sky and vanish into the distance.

"It's flown away," he whispered. "Where? What has it done?"

Judging from joyful cries "Long live Princess!", everything turned out well. People rejoiced, all were safe, and Princess Victoria climbed on her toppled carriage, holding someone’s hand. The snow fell in large blotches as if it greeted a Royal Family visitant.

“Ben, come here,” Wolfe found the place with a better view at Princess. “You know, it seems I have—”

“No! Wolfe, let’s go home.”

“Is there any hurry about it? It is just few minutes...” Wolfe looked back at Ben and there was no mistaking now, he _was_ scared. “All right, let us go. On our way home, we can buy some pies.”

“No, let’s get home, quick!”

“Fine, if you—” Ben didn’t wait to hear more and was off like a shot.

The wind got stronger, it spattered the snow against the faces, brought tears to the eyes. Wolfe tried to walk more slowly, and Ben almost ran but couldn't keep pace with him. Wolf stopped short, turned around and realised what the problem was.

“Your glasses! You can see nothing with them!”

“I can't see anything without them either!” Ben wiped the snow off the lenses fervently.

“Keep yourself right behind me, okay? And hold on to my half-belt, to let me know you are there.”

Ben looked like he was going to object but just nodded silently. Wolfe felt infected by his anxiety, however groundless it seemed. He was hurrying, for fear he should be late, making the snow creak under his shoes.

As they flew onto the bridge, Wolfe’s heart missed a beat suddenly — before his eyes made out from snowy veil a familiar figure running towards them.

“Mal!”

“Wolfe! Are ye alright? Where’s Ben?”

“Here he is,” Wolfe made a step aside letting them both see each other.

“I’ve ‘eard a bang... what’s up?”

“We do not quite understand that ourselves, but everyone is safe...”

“Another Deadly Sin’s got released,” Ben added gloomily.

“Y’go somewhere, an’ now!..” snorted O’Malley.

“It’s not me... this time.”

“Ben got very worried, he wanted to return home fast,” Wolfe put in.

“I wasn’t worried, just there was nothing for us to do there,” Ben shrugged a shoulder. “Tomorrow we’ll read what happened in the newspapers.”

“Yes, of course,” Wolfe sounded absolutely serious. “So now we can go home, with no worry?”

“We wanted to go to a bakery,” reminded Ben. “But as we’ve got all together here, maybe let’s go to a teashop? For buying pies and drinking something warm.”

Mal shifted his eyes from Ben to Wolfe and grunted his consent.

They sat at a teashop table and Ben, having forgotten all his troubles till the next morning, drank hot mulled wine and took neat slices of a pie from a plate.


End file.
